Fidelity
by ohmycroft
Summary: Sherlock and John meet a mysterious woman with a surprising past. When everything happens just like they all expected, everything changes. Hope you like it!
1. The Party

AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm just getting started with this one, and I sort of know how I want the story to develop, but I'll probably change tons of things along the way. So if you have any questions or suggestions, please review or PM! :)**

* * *

_Beep beep_.

John checked his phone to see who texted him. Sherlock was right beside him, playing the violin, so it can't be him.

"Anderson's throwing Donovan a surprise party tonight." he announced to Sherlock. He waited a moment for Sherlock's response, but when it didn't come, he kept reading the text. "At 8 pm. We're invited."

"I'm sure she'll be very happy not to have me there." his flat mate answered as he continued playing.

He sighed. "Come on, Sherlock. Be nice. Lestrade asked us personally to come. We'll just wish her a happy birthday, talk to people –"

"Boring." Sherlock muttered, and he rolled his eyes at him.

"We'll be out in an hour."

Sherlock stopped playing and groaned dramatically. "Fine. But we're not buying her a present."

"Sherlock, it's her birthday –"

His flat mate started playing the violin again. This conversation was over. He sighed. He'll just ask Mary to help him.

* * *

When Sherlock and John entered the room, Donovan was already there. They've missed the surprise. A couple of seconds John shut the door behind them, Lestrade found them.

"Thanks for coming." he said with a smile as he shook John's hand. The detective could smell alcohol in his breath – he must've been bored, so he drank and waited for them to come.

"We got something for her." John said and showed Lestrade the small black bag that contained the earrings Mary thought that were 'absolutely lovely'. Sherlock rolled his eyes when he saw them.

"Oh, great. She's right there; go and give it to her." he said and gestured to a crowd of people at the center of the room, all laughing. Donovan stood in the middle of the crowd, in a short black dress that flattered her figure.

Sherlock and Lestrade stared at John for a moment, until he realize neither of them was going to come with him. "Right." he muttered and headed to the crowd. The two watched him from a distance. After he managed to get to her, they could see how surprised she was to see him there. She peeked to where Sherlock was standing as John spoke, so he smiled sarcastically in return to her disgusted look. Then, she realized she wasn't paying attention to John, so she looked at him again. She smiled at the present, thanked him, and he hurried away from her.

"I told you we shouldn't get her anything." the detective murmured when he came back. The shorter man stared at him angrily. "Let's just get a drink."

The three of them walked to the bar, which was surprisingly empty. They were the only ones there, except for a blonde woman in a purple dress.

"Hello, Kate." Lestrade greeted the woman. She half smiled back, and then looked away again. She seemed to simply stare at the people around her.

John sat down next to her. Sherlock chuckled behind him – _must be an old habit of his_, he thought, _to talk_ _women that seem lonely_.

"So what is your connection to Sally?" he asked her friendly.

"We're friends." she answered shortly.

"How did you two meet?" he asked again, trying to start a conversation. Unlike his friend, the detective wasn't as excited to learn about that woman's life story. He sat down heavily next to John and mumbled something about being bored.

"My boyfriend killed someone. I helped him hide the body and I got caught. Sally interrogated me for 37 hours, and after I didn't

tell her anything the whole time, she let me go. One year later, after I got out of prison, we sort of became friends." she spoke monotonically, as if talking to him made her bored. She didn't make eye contact during the whole story.

Sherlock started paying attention when he heard the word 'body'. He leaned forward to look at Kate. He generally didn't find any special interest in women – the ones John found attractive weren't even pretty. Except for Mary, of course. But this time, he thought Kate was beautiful. Her long blonde hair gently rested on her shoulders, and the dress she was wearing was perfect for her figure. Usually, her looks wouldn't matter to the detective. But she spoke of murder as if it was as ordinary as visiting the cinemas, so there was _something_ different about her.

John was stunned as well. "So your boyfriend killed a man, and you just helped him get away with it?"

"Well, I broke up with him afterwards of course." she said casually.

Both men stared at her for a moment. Both of them wanted her to tell them more about the murder, but neither of them knew what to ask. Suddenly, she became aware of their gazes. She stared back.

"Why are you staring at me?"

John mumbled an apology and looked away, but Sherlock kept his eyes on hers.

"So how did you meet him?" Sherlock asked without breaking the eye contact.

"You tell me how you two met first, and then I'll tell you."

John sighed. Why does it keep happening? "We're not a couple. In fact, I'm married." he said the usual answer. "To a woman." he added quickly.

Kate looked back to the crowd, suddenly losing interest in the intense eye contact she made with Sherlock.

"So how do _you_ know Sally?" she asked in a bored tone.

"We work with her. She doesn't like us very much, though."

She suddenly turned to look at them, her eyes widened. "_You're_ the freak?"

"The one and only." he muttered back.

Kate laughed loudly, and John started giggling. Her laughter was catchy, so after a couple of seconds Sherlock giggled as well. "You've heard about me?" he finally asked.

"You're pretty much everything she talks about. Is it true that by simply looking at someone for five seconds you can tell everything about him?"

Sherlock smiled smugly. _Finally_ a good reputation.

"Not _everything_. But almost everything."

She leaned backwards in her seat. "Go ahead, then. Tell me everything you can about me."

Sherlock scanned her, ignoring her eager expression. He thought of everything he could deduce about her and told her everything rapidly, as if he was talking to himself. John could barely understand his words since he was talking so quickly and quietly, but it seemed that Kate understood everything he said about her. Her enthusiastic smile grew slightly bigger every time Sherlock deduce something correctly about her, like a child watching a magician. After he finished talking, she leaned back in her chair again and looked at the crowd.

"You're not that bad." the blonde said, as if allowing him to sit next to her.

"You're not that bad either." the detective murmured back, not sure if it's a compliment or an insult.

"What time is it?" John asked. As much as he admired Sherlock's skills, he felt a little invisible. He made a deal with him – one hour, and then they'll leave.

Sherlock glanced at his watch and turned to John. "Half past eight."

He turned back to Kate, but she was already gone.


	2. The Restaurant

Dr. and the pregnant Mrs. Watson sat together in 221B Baker Street and listened to the owner of the flat play the violin. They came because it was Tuesday again, and they came every Tuesday – part of Mary's plan to keep the two men close as they used to be. But soon Sherlock started playing the violin. John noticed there was something sad about Mary's expression, as if something's wrong.

"What's bothering you?" he asked his wife. She hesitated for a moment, but then sighed.

"We never do anything together." Mary complained to her husband quietly.

"Don't be silly, of course we do." he answered quietly and glanced over his shoulder at his previous flat mate, who was playing the violin.

"Listen to him!" she exclaimed in a whisper and looked at Sherlock. The melody he was playing was mournful, but everything he composes sounds mournful. John turned to him and looked at him for a moment, trying to understand what the problem is. Then, his expression changed and he turned back to his wife.

"You're not talking about the two of us, aren't you?" he asked with a sigh.

"No, of course not," she said, as if it was completely obvious, "I'm talking about Sherlock and us. You promised him nothing will change –"

"And nothing has changed."

"You know that's not true. We can't just be present in the same room with him once a week and say nothing has changed. Let's go somewhere, just the three of us."

John sighed. He knew there's no need to talk about any longer – the decision has been made. Mary smiled.

"Sherlock, we're all going to get dinner. Get out of that sheet and put something on you." John called to his friend.

Sherlock didn't say anything and didn't stop playing the violin, but Mary could see the faintest of smiles spread on his face.

* * *

When Sherlock said the restaurant he chose is in the Marylebone Road, John chuckled humourlessly. Mary insisted they'll ask Sherlock to decide where they should go, so they did. John knew Sherlock wouldn't choose a place randomly, and of course he was right. Sherlock chose the place where he proposed to Mary, but Sherlock probably remembers it as the place where he told John he isn't dead.

Only when they sat down there Mary realized why this place is so familiar to her. She smiled to herself. So much have changed since that night. She followed the waitress with her gaze as she walked over to their table.

"Good evening." she said as she put menus on their table. John and Mary started reading them, but Sherlock hesitated. The voice was familiar. He looked up, and saw a beautiful blonde woman staring back at him.

"Kate." the name finally came to his mind. Only after he said her name her expression changed, and she suddenly recognized him.

"I knew you were familiar." she said with a light smile. "I still don't know your name, though. Sally simply refers to you as 'The Freak'."

He chuckled. "Sherlock."

John looked up from his menu, suddenly realizing there was another person at the table. "Oh, Kate."

She smiled politely to him, and then frowned a little. "John, is it?"

He nodded approvingly. He enjoyed the fact that she remembered his name and not Sherlock's.

"Sally told me about you. She was pretty certain you were a couple."

John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Kate, this is Mary, my wife." he put his arm on his wife's shoulder, which looked up to the sound of her name. She smiled and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Kate nodded. "I'll come back in a couple of minutes to take your orders." she took off quickly, her heels clicking as she walked quickly to another table.

"Didn't expect _that_." John said when he saw she was far enough.

"Why not? It's not surprising that she wanted a quiet job after she got out of prison."

"Wait – _prison_? John, who is this?" Mary tried to catch up.

"We met a couple of days ago at Donovan's party. She spent some time in prison for hiding the body of someone her boyfriend killed. Can you believe that? She spent time just to make sure her boyfriend remains safe, and then broke up with him."

"Maybe she loves him so much she broke up with him to keep him safe." she suggested.

"No." Sherlock said coldly, staring at Kate's back.

"No?"

"No. You should've heard the way she talked about him. It sounded as if she never cared about him."

"People tend to conceal their feelings, you know." John sided his wife.

"No one is such a good liar."

John wanted to say that _he_ is, but then he thought of the way he acted when he was with The Woman and changed his mind – even the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't conceal his feelings.

Kate glanced at their table, but then looked back and made eye contact with Sherlock. Her green eyes were focused on his, and for a moment the world froze, and all he could think about was that her eyes are on his. But then the moment passed, and she left without looking back.

"Sherlock?"

The detective shook his head. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

John chuckled. "I asked if everything alright. You've been staring at Kate for the past five minutes."

Sherlock frowned. "No, I didn't." he looked at her just for a minute, nothing more.

"Yeah, you did." Mary said with a chuckle.

He found the menu that lied in front of him and opened it. He pretended to be very interesting in the salads the restaurant offered and hoped they'll change the subject, but all he could really think about it is Kate's eyes and the secret that lies behind them.


	3. The Plan

**A/N: Hello everybody! I'm not so sure about this episode, but don't worry, the next ones will be much better! Enjoy chapter 3, and don't forget to review! :)**

* * *

Sherlock needed someone to talk to. He had a lot to think about, and he gets to the best conclusions when he's thinking out loud. But the flat was empty as always, so he did what he always did when he needed to talk to someone – he pretended John was there.

"There's something wrong with her story." Sherlock said.

_John would sigh, and then ask: "What's wrong?"_

"All of it. It just doesn't make sense. Why would she help her boyfriend hide the body of a person he killed and spend time in prison, but then break up with him, after all she's done for him?" the detective spoke slowly, in the tone he always uses when he explains things to John. The tone he always uses before he starts 'showing off', according to John.

_John would say: "Well, maybe she helped him because she loved him." He would use the tone he always uses when he talks about emotions._

"No, that's not it. If she had loved him so much, she wouldn't had broken up with him so easily. There was something else guiding her." Sherlock said in frustration.

_John would look at him teasingly. "Why are you so intrigued by her?"_

"It's not _her_, it's her story. We don't have any cases at the moment, and I'm bored. Investigating about her life story keeps me from shooting the wall again."

_"Right." John would say, and it would be clear that he doesn't believe him. "So what could be her motive?"_

"I don't know. It wasn't love, so what –" Sherlock froze in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening. "Oh. _Oh_!"

_John would be irritated. That's what he calls 'showing off'. "What is it, Sherlock?"_

"It wasn't love, it was _loyalty_. She spoke of him as if he didn't matter to her because he really _didn't_ matter to her. But she was loyal to him, so she helped him get away with the murder. After she got out of prison, she found her boyfriend with a different woman! She must've dumped him immediately. I don't think she ever actually stopped loving him, but he betrayed her and it hurt her, so she left him. "

_"How do you know her boyfriend cheated on her?"_

"_Please_. Her boyfriend clearly wasn't a moral man, and his girlfriend was away for a long period of time. He's a man and he's unreliable, of course he cheated on her."

Sherlock stopped wandering in the room. Was he really that bored? He _hated_ those cases, the ones that involve dramatic love stories.

The answer was obvious – yes, he was. Besides, he had a strange feeling about her.

_"So what's next?"_ _John would ask after a moment of silence. "I mean, great job and everything, but what do we do next?"_

"We know something about her she doesn't want us to know. She clearly knows something she doesn't want us to know. Now we're even – now the game is on."

_John would sigh tiredly._

Sherlock smiled.

* * *

"_What is it, Sherlock?_" the deep voice asked without saying hello.

"There's a blonde woman who works in a restaurant in Marylebone Road, the same place I met John after I came back. I need you tell me when she got out of there yesterday and the day before." Sherlock asked about previous days because he knew it'll make it sound like it's for a case. The last thing he needed his brother to know was that he was obsessed with a woman he had recently met.

The answer came seconds later. "_8:30 pm, on both days. May I ask why?_"

"No, you may not."

Sherlock hanged up before his brother could answer. He knew what that'd make Mycroft think – that something's going on, something he's not yet aware of. He'll probably come to the flat soon to talk to him, but he'll deal with that later. At the moment, all he could think about was his plan – the plan to reveal the secret behind Kate.

* * *

The detective and his blogger stood outside of a restaurant at 8:29 pm.

"Sherlock, what are we doing?" the blogger asked tiredly.

"I've already told you – we're waiting –"

"I know what the plan is. But _why_ are we stalking a woman we barely know?"

"Because she's hiding something, something _important_, and I need to find out what that is. Besides, we're not stalking her. We're merely… _curious_."

The shorter man sighed. Even if he could make is friend change his mind, it was too late for that. It was 8:30, and the blonde woman got out of the restaurant. She hadn't noticed them until Sherlock put his hand on her shoulder. She jumped in surprised and gasped as she turned to look at him.

"Hello, Kate." he said with a fake smile.

"You scared me to death. Couldn't you just call me or something?"

"I don't have your number."

"I meant calling as in saying my name."

"Oh." the detective in half-faked embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

"Well, there must've been a reason for your surprise." she reminded the detective.

He put on the most convincing smile he had. "Well, I just wanted to talk to you. There's something I'd like to ask you."

Kate half-smiled, now that she knew what Sherlock was seeking. "I don't like questions. They're just people's excuse to get the information they want."

She turned to look at John and smiled to him, and then started walking away.

"I'm sorry he cheated on you," Sherlock called to her. "You deserve better."

She froze a couple of steps away. Then, she turned around slowly and walked back to the men. Her expression was much different – it was ice cold, and just a hitch of curiosity.

"How did you know he cheated on me?" she asked quietly.

Sherlock smiled. Finally, a useful deduction. "Come with us to my flat, and we'll talk for a while."

The men started walking towards a cab, but Kate didn't follow them.

"Come on, you can trust us." Sherlock called.

After a moment, just like he expected, she followed them quietly.

* * *

"Nice flat." she said emotionlessly as John shut the door behind her. She looked around, and then her eyes found an unknown man, who was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Sherlock asked angrily, and by doing so introduced him to Kate. He knew his brother would come to ask questions, but he didn't consider the option he'll come when he's busy.

"I… I just…" his brother mumbled, his eyes fixed on Kate's. He shook his head gently. "I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked as he got up from his seat.

"Kate. Kate Thompson. And you are?" she asked, just as confused by his presence. There wasn't supposed to be anyone else here.

"I'm, uh…" he started mumbling again.

"That's Mycroft, my unwelcome brother." Sherlock looked meaningfully at Mycroft. "He's leaving now."

"I've asked my driver to come in an hour from now. I assumed it'll take you a while to show up." Mycroft said as he focused his attention on his brother.

"Take a cab, then."

Mycroft sulked. "I don't take _cabs_."

"First time for everything." Sherlock muttered as he started pushing his brother outside of his flat.

"Actually, _Mycroft_," Kate said with a grin, "why don't you stay?"

The brothers froze for a moment, both surprised by the woman's invitation.

"Does his presence in the room annoy you?" she asked Sherlock softly, as if she's concerned about upsetting him.

"Yes."

"Good." her smile reappeared, and her tone was as confident as it was before. "Then he stays."

Mycroft hated being used as a tool to upset his brother. But he _did_ enjoy the situation, and he had to admit – he was absolutely intrigued by this woman. He smiled to her and sat back down in his usual seat. "Thank you, Kate. Would you like to sit down?" he suggested and gestured the other couch.

"I'd love to." she said and sat down in front of him.

Sherlock's jaw tightened. Nothing was happening the way he had planned. He stood next to the small table that separated the couches.

"Alright then, how did you know he cheated on me?" Kate asked after a moment.

Sherlock smirked. "I knew you didn't love him. If you really had loved him, you would have never broken up with him after you got out of prison. Something else was motivating you to help him, but then made you leave him. What other emotion was strong enough to do that? Loyalty, of course. The only reason he could have betrayed you in a way that'd make you leave him is to be unfaithful. That was the easy part."

She blinked as she tried to comprehend everything he had just said. "Alright, then. If that's the easy part, what's the difficult part?"

"You seem like an intelligent woman. How could you not know he's a murderer?"

A smirk slowly spread on her face, and her eyes sparkled for a moment.

"Sally has told me about you two. She's told me how quickly you can read other people and how much information you can gather that way, but she's also told me that whenever emotions we're needed in order to solve the case, you were baffled. That's where John steps in," she said and moved her gaze to him, "the man who can read emotions the way Sherlock can read people."

"And your point is?" the detective asked.

She looked back at him. "The way you can look at people and know who they are, the way John can look at people and who what they're _feeling_ – I have a similar ability. I've learned how to read people's secrets. Our deepest secrets are the ones we're not capable of hiding. All I need it to talk to the person for a while, watch the way he moves and talks, and his secret is revealed. I'd give you an example by exposing _your_ secret, but I believe you wouldn't like me to do that in front of John, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock didn't know whether to believe her or not. But if she's not lying, if she really _can_ read people's secrets… It's best to stay cautious, just in case.

"No, I wouldn't." he answered quietly.

"Sherlock, what is she talking about?" John asked in concern.

"Nothing." The detective muttered.

Kate's smirk grew into a smile, but then disappeared when she noticed that the man in front of her was smiling as well.

"Why are _you_ smiling?" she asked him agitated.

"It's been a while since someone gave my brother a taste of his own medicine."

She chuckled. "He's quite annoying. How do you tolerate him?"

"I don't." he answered, clearly holding back a laugh. But then Kate started laughing, and he joined her.

After the two calmed down and Sherlock had finished assuring John his secret 'wasn't anything important', there was a short silence. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, a song started playing.

Sherlock was the first to recognize it. John was the second. Kate was the third. Mycroft recognized only when they got to the chorus.

_Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive._

"Sorry, that's my phone." Kate apologized and hurriedly pulled out her phone.

"Hello?" she asked as she got up from her seat and walked away from the living room, clearly to make sure they won't hear the conversation.

Sherlock and John started at each other, both reliving the same moment. The last time they've heard Staying Alive, their lives were in danger.

"Must be a coincidence." John murmured.

"I don't believe in coincidences. The universe is rarely so lazy."

Mycroft moved uncomfortably in his seat. "Mind telling me what the problem is?"

"This woman is dangerous, Mycroft. Don't fall for her." Sherlock answered quietly, as he heard Kate's heels pacing back to them.

Mycroft snorted. "I'm not _falling_ for –"

He stopped talking when he noticed Kate's back.

"Sorry about that." she said and sat down again.

"You were just telling us why you dated a murderer."

"Well, I knew he was a murderer, of course." the woman said casually. "Not that hard to spot a killer when you see one. But I could tell you're a psychopath seconds after I've met you, and yet here we are. I try to give people a chance."

"There's a different between giving people a chance to dating a murderer, don't you think?" John asked.

"I'm not a psychopath," Sherlock corrected irritated, "I'm a –"

"Highly functioning sociopath. Yes, I know."

The men simply stared at her for a moment. They had plenty of questions in their minds, but neither managed to frame them into words.

"Well, this has been very fun, but I have other things to do." Kate said and got up.

"Like what, hiding another body?" Sherlock teased, and got an eye roll as an answer.

Kate looked around the living room for a moment, and then found she needed. She walked to the messy coffee table and picked up a piece of paper and a pen. There was something written on the page. She read it for a second, and then mumbled: "Perhaps not that one." She put the paper down and picked up another one. She wrote something down, and then put it on the coffee table again.

She smiled to the men. "Thank you for your hospitality. Next time in my place."

She walked out of the room before anyone managed to answer.

"I think it's about time for me to leave as well." Mycroft said and got up with a sigh.

Sherlock kept his mouth shut as Mycroft walked towards the door, but just as he was about to exit the detective couldn't help it any longer.

"If you'll run fast enough, you'll manage to catch up with her."

Mycroft turned around and gave him an ice-cold look, the one he used only when Sherlock had really crossed the border. That look made Sherlock's smile vanish, but after he couldn't hear his brother's steps anymore, he smiled again.

"Have you seen the way he acted?" he asked John, like a child that's gossiping about a friend.

"I've never seen him act like that before. He reminded me of the way you acted around…" John's voice faded as he decided it might be better not to mention The Woman.

Fortunately, Sherlock didn't listen to the last part of the sentence. "Is it possible, that after all this time, my brother has fallen for a woman?" he wondered.

The blogger walked to the coffee table and looked at the note she'd left.

It was her phone number, and beneath it she wrote in a neat handwriting:

_I owe you a question. _


	4. The Realization

**A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry it took me so long... This one is shorter than the rest, but there's a small plot twist in it :P**

**Hope you like it! Please review :)**

* * *

It was Tuesday again, so John and Mary went to visit their detective friend. Only he didn't open the door. They knocked on it once, and then twice, but he didn't open it.

"Do you think he forgot?" Mary asked in confusion. That wasn't like him.

"Sherlock doesn't _forget_. He either pretends to forget or gets distracted." John pulled out his keys and scanned them. "Hold on, I think I still have the key." As he found the right one, he opened the door. Just as he took a deep breath in order to call Sherlock's name, he found him lying on the sofa with closed eyes, as if he's asleep. Only his hands were in their usual praying-like position, so John knew he's awake. Or at least partly awake – he seemed to be in his mind palace.

"Sherlock?" he called. As his friend didn't move, he called him again, this time more loudly. "_Sherlock_?"

"I think he's sleeping." Mary whispered.

"No, he isn't." he said with a sigh. He picked up a pen from the floor, held it in front of him from a moment, and then threw it at the detective's right hand. Without opening his eyes, he caught the pen, and John chuckled humourlessly.

Sherlock opened his eyes. He opened his mouth in order to say something, but John spoke before he could. "Please tell me you were thinking about a case. A _real_ one."

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, and then answered. "It's a real case."

John didn't believe him, obviously. He walked to the coffee table to see what the 'case' was about. The note with Kate's number lied on it. John sighed and sat heavily on his chair.

"Sherlock, you have got to stop thinking about her."

"Isn't that the waitress you met a while ago?" Mary asked as John clearly hadn't updated her about everything that had happened.

"Yes, it is. Sherlock is obsessed with her."

"I'm not _obsessed_." the detective said irritated.

"Oh, really? Then how do you explain your interest in her? Because you clearly don't like her."

The detective got up sharply from the sofa and looked for something on the coffee table, something that was buried under the immense number of papers and notes that were on the table.

"Do you remember what Kate had said before she wrote down her number?"

It took John a moment to remember. His memory wasn't nearly as good as his friend's, but eventually, he could see the scene in his mind again.

"She looked at a piece of paper, said: "Maybe not that one", picked up a different one and wrote down her number. So what?"

Sherlock breathed out in content when he found the paper he was looking for. It was an old-looking newspaper. "Want to see what the paper she didn't want to write anything on was?"

John nodded, slightly curious.

Sherlock handed him the newspaper. Even if there wasn't any text on the picture that was displayed on the front page, John would have realized Sherlock was right all along.

"Oh, god." he murmured.

"What is it?" Mary asked and took the newspaper out of Sherlock's hand. She didn't know as much about that woman as the men did, so even after she read the text she didn't understand the problem. She read it out loud; hoping one of the men would bother to explain.

"James Moriarty was real."

She glanced at Sherlock and then at her husband, but the two simply stared at each other. After a moment of silence, Sherlock nodded. He knew how to spot the change in John's expression, the change that happens when John understands something.

"Moriarty is her ex-boyfriend."


	5. The Hypocrisy

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long! I'll try to post a new chapter every Tuesday from now on. Maybe even more often! ;)**

**Anyway, sit back and enjoy chapter 5! Hope you'll like it :)**

* * *

When Mycroft Holmes woke up, he was surprised that his eyes were closed. He didn't remember falling asleep. The second thing he noticed was an atrocious headache and a nausea that spread in his stomach like a toxic gas. He could remember having a drink, but he couldn't recall exactly how _many_ drinks he had. He moaned as he opened his eyes. He blinked several times until his eyes readjusted to the light.

He was in his office. When did he get there? His jacket was folded neatly on the coffee table next to the sofa, although he was certain he hadn't left it that way. It must've been Anthea – but it wasn't like her to find him sleeping on the sofa like that without doing anything about it. It wasn't the first time he slept in his office, but it was definitely the first time he slept with his shoes on.

Only his shoes weren't on. When did he take them off?

"Good morning." a feminine voice said, one Mycroft didn't expect to hear. He jumped when he heard that voice, and immediately regretted doing that, as it made his headache even worse.

He searched the room until he found the blonde hair he imagine he'd find.

"Kate? What are you doing here?"

Kate giggled and sat down on a chair next to him. "I knew you got drunk last night, but I didn't know it was that bad. Do you honestly not remember?"

Mycroft frowned and tried to recall the events of the night before. "I remember that we went to a restaurant, and we had dinner, and we drank a couple of drinks… The rest of it is a blur."

Kate smiled lightly. "Apparently you drank a little too much. We had our fun, and when you couldn't find your phone and refused to hail a cab, I did it for you. I asked you to give me your home address, but you gave me this one. I thought it wouldn't be wise to leave you alone in such a state, so I stayed." she shrugged. When she noticed his worried expression, she chuckled. "Don't worry; I've had a great time."

"I _never_ get that drunk."

"Yeah, I got that. Your PA – Anthea, I think – was sort of shocked when she found us here. I asked her to make sure you have a day off today."

Mycroft straightened up slowly until he was sitting on the sofa, but he kept the eye contact with Kate the whole time.

"You have a question."

"What?"

"I can see that on your face. You have a question. Go ahead, ask me."

Mycroft sighed. Was it just him, or did she manage to read right through him every single time?

"You could have left a long time ago. Why did you stay here?"

"I didn't want to leave you alone."

The British Government found himself grinning awkwardly, and Kate got up from her chair and sat down next to him.

"I haven't had a day off for _years_." two years, eight months, two weeks and three days. He took a day off in order to 'mourn for his brother's death', because there were a lot of things to be arranged.

"Yes, since Sherlock's death. How could you not take a day off for that long?" she asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. "With a job like mine, you can never really have a day off." he opened his mouth to say something else, but then something bothered him. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but he knew something was _wrong_.

"Well, we have the whole day for ourselves. Where should we start?"

Mycroft forgot about his concern when he looked at her smile. It's probably nothing, must be the hangover. He smiled back at her.

* * *

"Still not picking up?" John asked again.

"No."

"And Kate?"

The detective shook his head. What was going on? It wasn't like Mycroft to ignore his calls. _Well, to ignore them and not call me back_, he corrected himself.

"Remind me again why it is such a big deal that his brother isn't answering?" Mary asked her husband quietly, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear it.

"Because Kate Thompson used to date James Moriarty, and I don't think she ever stopped loving him." Sherlock began to explain, clearly upset. "You've met her, John – she follows her heart and not her mind. As we've managed to understand, Moriarty is still alive, and as we already know, he can be very persuasive. He might've got Kate to trust him again, so even if they're not a couple at the moment they're definitely in touch. So a woman who's clever enough to make Moriarty want her got my brother to like her, and now neither of them is picking up. Excuse me for being concerned."

The Watsons were silent for a moment.

"Alright, so it _is_ a big deal. What are we going to do?" the doctor's wife asked, and her husband rolled his eyes at her use of the world 'we'.

The detective hurried to the desk and opened his laptop. He typed something in, and then four pictures popped on the screen – four different pictures of Mycroft's office.

"My brother isn't the only one that can play with cameras." he murmured.

John stood behind him, and examined the pictures for a moment before announcing the obvious. "He isn't there."

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious. Do you happen to know where he _is_?"

John didn't answer. Has he ever seen Sherlock so concerned about his brother? Has he ever seen Sherlock concerned about his brother _at all_?

"There's no other choice, I'll have to risk it." the detective suddenly murmured and started typing rapidly in his computer again.

"What are you doing?"

"Tracing his phone. If everything's fine and he'll see I'm trying to trace him..." his voice trailed off as a deep frown appeared on his face.

The doctor bent down and stared at the screen. He expected to see a single red dot or perhaps no dots at all, but he didn't expect to see seven red dots, each one in a different place.

"Is that normal?" Mary said, and John jumped. He didn't even notice she got up and stood beside him.

"No, of course not."

"What does it mean?"

"It means one of two things – either my brother has installed a new security system, which he hasn't, or someone's going through a lot of trouble to make sure we can't find his phone."

"But _why_ would anyone bother so much?"

"My brother is basically the most powerful man in England. His life is under a constant threat because of the things he knows and controls. He distances himself from everything and everyone, in order to make sure he remains safe. His phone may not contain everything he knows, but with a couple of calls from his number you could get everything you'd ever wish for, so yes, I'd say that stealing Mycroft's phone is something that's worth the trouble."

Mary was astonished – she had known Mycroft is an important man, but she had no idea how powerful he really is.

The three of them were quiet for a moment. As he had nothing else to do, the younger Holmes tried to call Kate again. She didn't pick up, again. But just as he was about to close his phone, he received a text.

_STOP CALLING ME!_

"Who's it from?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He was too busy typing an answer.

_Where are you?_

"It's Kate." John updated his wife after a short glance at Sherlock's phone.

_None of your business._

_It might be. _

_It really can't._

Sherlock sighed exasperated.

_Where's my brother?_

This time the answer didn't come immediately.

_Busy._

The detective was sick of mysterious text messages. He tried to call her again. Just as he was about to hang up, she picked up.

"I'm getting sick of you, Sherlock." she said, and it sounded as if she was whispering. Her voice was different – much colder and more irritated. "Stop getting in my way, or you'll find out what I'm like when I'm angry."

"And why should I be afraid of you?" the detective asked, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

"Trust me, Sherlock, you _really_ don't want me to answer that."

"Where are –" he started.

"Sorry, I've got to go. I've got to keep your brother busy."

She hanged up, and left Sherlock absolutely stunned.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" John exclaimed, as he was close enough to Sherlock to hear the conversation.

Sherlock didn't answer him, because he couldn't. He had no idea where his brother was or what was going on, and there was nothing he could do about it.


	6. The Closeness

**A/N: Hi again! I'm back for my Tuesday update! This one is a little shorter, but don't worry, the plot is slowly thickening...**

**Enjoy chapter 6!**

* * *

Kate burst into laughter again, and Mycroft laughed along. He had never had such a good time with anyone, but there was still something bugging him. the hangover was much better, but he still felt like he's missing something. But every time he tried to figure out what it was, Kate said or did something that distracted him, and to be honest, he liked being distracted by her. He had detached himself from everyone for so long, _so long_, and it felt surprisingly _good_ to open up to someone again.

"Did he actually do that?" she asked, the smile still very present on her face.

"Yes, he did. And then he blamed _me_ for it!"

She laughed again, and so did he.

"God, he sounds like the _worse_brother ever!"

His smile changed slightly, he could feel it, although he didn't know why. "He has his moments."

Her smile grew smaller slowly, until it was just a small grin.

"So what about you? Any brothers? Sisters?" he asked.

The blonde shook her head. "I'm a single child."

"You're lucky." Mycroft joked, and she giggled.

They were both silent for a moment, and Mycroft looked at the trees around him. "Why did you insist that'll we'll come here? It's just an ordinary park."

Kate shrugged. "I like the fresh air. Besides, as strange as it sounds, sometimes being out in the open is more private than being in a room."

Mycroft chuckled. Of all people, he probably understood that the best.

He turned his head back to Kate, and realized she was much closer than she was a second ago.

Before he could react in any way, she kissed him.

It wasn't his first kiss, of course. But it was different nonetheless. It made him hear his heartbeat, that felt like it was about to explode. He felt strange warmness – the kind of warmness that made him embarrassed. He knew this was probably a bad idea, but at the moment, it was the last thing he could think about. It was a stolen moment, taken from someone else's life. He suddenly realized that his arm was around her, and that the other hand was on her cheek. He then realized _her _hands were on the nape of his neck and on his back, and his skin was burning wherever they made contact.

She pulled back from the kiss eventually, after what felt like forever yet not long enough.

"Wow". she whispered, and he could feel her breath on his face.

"Yes, that's the word I'd use."

She giggled, and so did he. Her laughter was contagious.

"What do we do now?" he asked quietly.

"Well, we can stay here, or we can –"

He cut her midsentence with a kiss. She smiled and kissed him back.

"I like that option." she whispered with a grin.

She kissed him again, and Mycroft couldn't help himself. A huge smile spread on his face.

* * *

Sherlock took a step back to take a look at the whole wall. It was filled with notes, scraps of paper and newspaper articles.

"Alright, so what do we know so far?" John asked. After an exhausting argument, he had managed to get Mary to let him take her home to rest. He stayed with Sherlock to help him locate Mycroft.

"Kate Thompson is Donovan's friend. She used me in order to get to my brother. She used to date Moriarty, and loved him enough to sit in prison for him, but then broke up with him because he cheated on her, _not_ because she stopped loving him. It's safe to assume she still loves him. I think that she works for him now, and that her plan is to get Mycroft to come voluntarily to wherever Moriarty is, so he could… Something." Sherlock groaned in frustration. "What's missing? It must be obvious, I must be staring right at it!"

John jumped when his friend turned to him sharply and grabbed his shoulders. "What's missing, John? I'm too close to this, I can't think clearly."

"How am I supposed to solve this?!"

"No, not to solve this, you're not clever enough for that." the detective didn't even stop to apologize. "I need a fresh perspective – look at everything we know, and tell me what's missing!"

John frowned and scanned the wall. There was only one thing bugging him, but it didn't have anything to do with what they know.

"How can she make Mycroft follow her? He's cautious and clever."

"Have you not noticed? He has fallen for her. You don't know what my brother's like when he's in love. Neither do I." he muttered.

"But wouldn't he notice something's wrong? I mean, when he'd see all of the missed calls and texts and –"

"_Yes!_" the detective interrupted without a joyous cry.

"What is it?"

"The phone. Mycroft _never_ leaves his phone. It's only a matter of time until he'll notice it's not on him."

"How do you know it isn't?"

"Mycroft never ignores me completely. When he can't talk, he texts. He'd never fully ignore me."

"So you're saying that…" the doctor started, hoping the detective would finish the sentence and explain himself.

"That it's only a matter of time until he'll realize something's wrong. And when he does…" his voice trailed off, and a large grin appeared on his face, "…The game is on!"


	7. The Invitation

**A/N: Hello people of the Earth! I'm back for my Tuesday update :) The next chapter will be the last one, so I REALLY hope you've liked my story enough so far to wait until next week for the big finale ;)**

**If you have any guesses or theories about what'll happen next, please review and tell me about them! I'll let you know next week who was the closest ^^**

**Anyway - Here's chapter 7!**

* * *

If Kate's stomach hadn't grumbled, they probably wouldn't have moved from each other.

"Hungry?" he asked, suddenly realizing how hungry he was too.

She smiled shyly. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all. In fact, I know a nice place that's a five-minute walk from here."

"Sounds great."

They got up from the bench they sat on and started walking. Neither of them had something to say, so they walked in silence. Mycroft looked around them as he walked – it's been ages since he last visited a park. There were three children on a small hill near them, and they chased each other playfully. A man, probably the children's father, looked at them with a smile. Then his phone rang, so he pulled it out of his pocket and answered the call. Judging by his body language, it's probably his wife.

Mycroft froze.

"What's the matter?" Kate asked with a concerned expression.

"My phone. Where's my phone?"

"I've already told you when you woke up. You lost it last night, you couldn't find it."

Mycroft shook his head, but kept walking. "I never lose things."

"And you never get drunk. One is a consequence of the other." she said casually.

Mycroft could already see the restaurant's sign. When was the last time he drank anything? His head was spinning and his mouth was dry.

They entered the restaurant and sat down. Kate smiled lightly to him, but then frowned.

"What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"Nothing," he answered, since he didn't want to worry her, "I'm probably just dehydrated."

"Let's get you some water then."

She called the waitress and asked for a large bottle of water and pasta for both of them. When the waitress brought them the water, Kate poured some into his glass, and he emptied it in seconds.

"Wow, you really are thirsty." The blonde chuckled and poured him more water.

A loud noise came from behind him, and Mycroft turned around quickly. A waiter had dropped down a couple of plates that almost hit a costumer. Nothing interesting, just a regular fuss.

Mycroft turned back, and immediately emptied his glass again. His headache was starting to fade, and he was beginning to feel better.

"Better?"

He nodded, and she smiled. He smiled back.

"Why do you like me?" he found himself thinking out loud. Kate chuckled.

"I don't know. You're smart, you're funny, you're… Different. You have a unique job, a unique family…"

"So you like me because I'm unique." he summed up flatly.

"Don't give me that look. It's a compliment."

Mycroft couldn't see how this was supposed to compliment him, but he decided to let it slide.

The waitress brought them their meals, and they are quietly.

Then, Mycroft felt something in his throat. Like a small balloon that he accidently swallowed, that someone was blowing from inside him so it grows bigger and blocks his airway.

He got up from the table and faltered outside.

"What's wrong?" Kate asked and got up instantly.

"Nothing, I just… Need some air." he mumbled and got out of the restaurant.

He tried to take deep breaths, but breathing was getting harder and harder. He was starting to feel nauseous, and the world began spinning around him. He put his hand on the wall so he wouldn't fall down.

"Hey, are you alright?" Kate asked and put her hand worriedly on his shoulder.

"Yes, I just…" he removed his hand from the wall, but then lost his balance and fell on her. Surprisingly, she caught him.

"Don't worry, it's alright, just close your eyes." she whispered in a low and steady voice as she lied him down on the pavement. "I thought it'd never work." she muttered.

As he was falling into unconsciousness, Mycroft finally realized what bugged him all along:

When he talked about the last time he took a day off, she knew when it was. It was possible that she knew about Sherlock's fake death, but there was no way she could know that he took a day off, and that he hadn't taken another one afterwards.

He never loses things. The only way he could lose his phone is if someone took it from him when he didn't notice. For example, when he was asleep.

She said he has a unique job, but he never told her anything about what he does.

The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was Kate's calm grin.

* * *

When John looked up from his empty plate, he realized Sherlock didn't even touch his.

"Come on, Sherlock, you've got to eat something."

"Digesting slows me down."

"Yes, so does starving."

Sherlock made eye contact with his friend for a moment. When he realized he won't give up he sighed and took a mouthful of food. He swallowed it without chewing. "There. Happy?"

John stared at him.

Sherlock took another bite. And then another one. And another, until his plate was empty.

"There. Now you can go back to your mind palace." the doctor said approvingly.

The detective glared at him. To Sherlock, food was a waste of time.

He lied back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Just then, he got a text. As John noticed his friend isn't going to check his phone, he did it for him. His expression changed drastically from a relatively calm one into an alarmed and shocked one. "Sherlock… You need to see this."

Sherlock opened his eyes and grabbed his phone. The same expression appeared on his face as he read it.

_Come and play. Get into a cab and I'll send you the address. xoxo _

Sherlock looked up from the phone and met his friend's eyes.

"Let's go."


	8. The Final Move

**A/N: Hello there! So this chapter is by far the longest, but it is the LAST ONE! *cheers and cries* I've had a great time writing it, and I hope you feel the same about reading it! Please leave reviews and tell me what you felt about the ending! **

**Thank you for reading this :)**

**Here's chapter 8!**

* * *

When Mycroft Holmes opened his eyes, he realized he was tied to a chair. He struggled against the bonds, but he was still weak from whatever Kate gave him.

He shook Kate off his head. He had more urgent things to think about.

He looked around him and tried to deduce something – anything – about the room he was in, but his head was throbbing and the room was spinning. He could feel how weak he was – whatever was in his water was working well.

The door in front of him opened, and he felt like there's something incredible heavy on his chest that's keeping his lungs from breathing and his heart from pounding.

Kate Thompson entered the room, and behind her walked the supposedly-dead James Moriarty.

"No." he whispered, and started to fight his bonds frantically.

"Don't tire yourself, dear. You're still weak." Moriarty said as he walked closer. "Weak and vulnerable." he said with a vicious smile.

Mycroft couldn't help it, and he glanced at Kate. She seemed… Concerned. She mouthed something to him.

_I'm sorry_.

Mycroft shook his head. It must be his mind playing games with him. She betrayed him – she has no reason to be concerned.

"What's the matter? Did the Iceman's heart finally melt?" Moriarty asked, and his cruel smile grew bigger. He was less than a step away from Mycroft at that moment, but the tied man didn't dare to look up, for he knew his expression would betray him.

Since he didn't look up, he couldn't prepare himself for the blow.

His head swung to the opposite side, and he could feel blood flowing out of his nose. He lifted his eyes just enough to see what his enemy was holding – a metal pipe.

Another blow. This time to his arm. His jaw tightened and he forced himself not to scream in pain.

"So what is it like, _Mr. Holmes_?" the consulting criminal asked victoriously, so close to him that Mycroft could feel his breath on his face. "To be on the losing side? To be the one that's tied helplessly to a chair, that gets beaten to death because the only woman he had ever loved had betrayed him, because she preferred the only man that's cleverer than you? To be the –"

"James, please stop." a surprising plea came, and Moriarty straightened up and turned.

"But why should I stop, Kate, when I'm enjoying this so much?" Moriarty said and walked slowly to her, until he was right before her. He put his hand on her cheek, the same hand that punched him just a moment ago. Mycroft's jaw tightened.

"He doesn't even say anything. You can't really enjoy it when he doesn't show any signs of distress. Just get this over with."

James seemed to ponder her words for a moment. Then, he lifted the pipe in front of her, as if he was about to hit her.

"No!" Mycroft cried before he could stop himself.

When Moriarty turned to him, a large grin was spread on his face. "This has just become much more fun." the consulting criminal walked to him again, and Mycroft avoided eye contact again. But then he put the pipe under his chin, and forced him to look at him. He tried to put on the strongest expression he could, but he knew he failed when he say Moriarty's smile.

"I'm giving you a choice. You get to choose who gets beaten to death. You –" James turned and pointed the pipe at Kate, "Or her."

Mycroft tried to think logically. That woman betrayed him – she tricked him, made him fall in love with her, made him vulnerable and hurt him in ways no one has ever hurt him. She deserves to get beaten.

"I choose me." he whispered tiredly.

Moriarty's grin grew surprisingly bigger, and he lifted the pipe. "Once upon a time there was a man named Mycroft Holmes – he had fallen for a woman and it broke his heart and bones."

The hit came. And then another one. Each time Moriarty struck a different place, and each time hurt more than the previous one. Mycroft's eyes were shut tight, and he knew his tongue must be bleeding pretty badly since he was biting it to keep himself from yelling. He could hear Kate was crying and asking Moriarty to stop, but he never listened. He kept hitting him, expecting a cry of pain every time. But even though Mycroft was weak and broken-hearted, he was still mentally strong. He had already lost the mental fight – he couldn't lose the psychological one as well.

"Moriarty!" a voice suddenly called, and Mycroft opened his eyes to search for its source. There were two people at the door again, but this time they were both men.

"Sherlock, darling, you're late. You've missed the fun." Jim said in a sickening-sweet voice and went to Sherlock.

John's eyes were too fixed on the consulting criminal to notice Mycroft's condition; Sherlock, on the other hand, noticed. He didn't worry much about his brother's physical state, it was his expression that worried him the most – he looked so vulnerable, so broken, so… _Weak_. And Sherlock couldn't stand seeing his brother like that.

"Oh, I'm sure you've saved some for me." the detective said, and then turned to look at the blonde woman in the room. "Well played, Kate Thompson. I must say I'm impressed." he said, ignoring her weeps.

"Have you enjoyed the game so far?" Moriarty asked with a smug smile.

"Yes, very. It's been a while since someone beat up my brother, and to be honest, I miss it. May I?" he gestured the metal pipe.

"Be my guest." Jim said and handed him the pipe. Sherlock smiled at him.

"Sherlock, what the _hell_ are you doing?!" John yelled. He thought they were trying to _help_ Mycroft, not to make things worse for him.

The younger Holmes ignored him and walked to his brother, which looked up at him. _That expression again. _Sherlock thought morbidly. He could hear Mycroft begging him in his mind, asking him to help him. Sherlock gave him the smallest of nods, but he knew his brother saw it. Then, he hit him twice. He turned around to the Irish man with a smile. "Thank you. I owe you." he said, carefully choosing his words. He hoped John would get his message and realize he hasn't completely lost his mind.

"Anytime." The Irish man said and took the pipe back.

"But what's your point? I mean, as fun as it is to hit my brother to death, I'm sure there's another reason he's here. Another reason _I'm_ here."

Moriarty smiled again. "Very good, Sherlock! I see your time playing dead hasn't made you any less fun. Yes, there is a second reason you're here today. You see, Sherlock, you're old news. I've already beaten you once, and it wasn't satisfying enough. My target this time is the only man in Britain that's more powerful than me – Mycroft Holmes." he said and turned to look at the man he's talking about. "I've broken him physically and mentally, and now it's time I'll break all of England. You're here just to watch – to watch the strongest man in England give away all of his power – for a woman!" he said joyfully.

He clapped his hands twice, and a red laser appeared on Kate's chest. Her eyes widened in terror, but not like Mycroft's.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, you're going to tell me everything you know, or else…" he put his hands closer together, and then separated them quickly to clap them.

"Stop!" Mycroft yelled.

Sherlock stared at his brother in dismay. Mycroft would rather die than to betray his country – why would he betray it for a girl, a girl who betrayed _him_?

Jim walked closer to Kate, and put his hand on her cheek, which made Mycroft nauseous.

"This was all just a game to you, wasn't it? You never really loved me. I spent time in prison for you, and you never truly loved me." she said in a surprisingly steady voice.

"Of course not, love. But I must admit," he said with a grin, "It's been a pleasure."

He removed his hand from her cheek, and then slapped it.

"Stop it. Stop." Mycroft breathed out in pain. It hurt him to talk, but he did his best.

"I'm sorry, what? I didn't hear that." Moriarty asked and put his hand behind his ear.

"You asked me choose. I chose myself. Hurt me, not her – you'll like it better." Moriarty was pacing slowly towards him, with an intrigued expression. "You like having the strongest man in England to your feet, begging you to stop." Moriarty lifted the pipe.

"Stop it, Mycroft." Kate begged. Sherlock wanted to say something too, to stop him – but he felt paralyzed, as if he was watching a film and there's nothing he could do.

Mycroft didn't stop. He had to get Moriarty away from her. "You want to hear me scream, to hear me cry. You want the world to see how James Moriarty made Mycroft Holmes ask him to kill him."

The blow came, and Mycroft let out a low cry. Moriarty's smile became huge, and he hit him again. This time, a louder cry came out.

Moriarty's laughter rolled in the room, and he hit again. This time Mycroft let himself scream, and Moriarty's laughter became even more frantic. Mycroft knew he wouldn't be conscious for long, so he needed to use that time to make sure he wouldn't hurt Kate.

"You never really cared about Kate. She was just a tool to you, a pawn in a gigantic game of chess. Hurting her wouldn't help you, because that's not the purpose of the game. It's your turn now – would you use it wisely?"

"Your brother is much more fun than you are, Sherlock." the consulting criminal called. "Checkmate." he said, and hit Mycroft's head.

Mycroft's eyes finally closed, and his head hung loosely on his shoulders.

John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder comfortingly, as there was nothing else he could do. Sherlock didn't know what to do – should he scream? Should he cry?

"No!" Kate screamed, and ran to Mycroft's still body, only to meet the pipe on her way to him. She fell on the floor, grabbing her beaten arm.

"So what do you think, Sherlock? Did you like my little show?" Moriarty asked the detective as he walked to him. "Usually, I don't do things myself, but this time was so _tempting_, I just had to. I've just defeated Britain's most powerful man – _because he asked me to_! But that's not the final move in the game. The final move," put his hand in his jacket, "Is this."

Moriarty showed them Mycroft's phone. "With one phone call, I can open any door I want. Who knows – I might even make myself prime minister!" he said gleefully.

He turned to Kate. "You can choose now. You can either walk out of this door with me, or never leave this room alive."

She shook her head. "I'll never follow you again."

"Alright, then. Goodbye, Kate –"

The loud noise of a gunshot interrupted Moriarty. He fell on the floor, his face frozen in a surprised expression.

John stared at his gun for a moment, and then put it back down. Sherlock ran to his brother without even glancing at Moriarty's body, and freed him from his bonds. He put his fingers on his neck and searched for a pulse. When he couldn't find it, he removed his fingers and then places them again on his neck.

"Sherlock…" John tried.

"I can't find a pulse. John, come help me, I can't find a pulse."

"Sherlock." he called his friend again. If only he'll look up from his brother's body…

Sherlock could hear Kate sobbing, but he didn't care – he needed to find the pulse. Because his brother couldn't be… He couldn't be…

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock put his hand under his brother's chin, and lift it up. He looked at his beaten up face, searched for any signs of life.

"No. This isn't possible. It can't be."

Sherlock flinched when he felt John's hand on his shoulder. He didn't even hear him come.

"I'm sorry."

He could feel the warm drops roll down his cheeks, each one cutting him like glass. The pain in his chest was unbearable.

He grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him down to the floor. He started the compressions, counting them quietly.

"Sherlock, stop it."

He moved next to his brother's head and opened his airway. He gave him a mouth-to-mouth breath. He started the compressions again.

"Sherlock…" John begged.

The detective could feel arms wrapped around him, but he shook them off and continued the compressions. If he'll stop, the blood pressure will drop and then he didn't do any good. Something blurred his vision, but he didn't care. The arms were wrapped around him again, but this time Sherlock couldn't shake them away. They were strong, and they pulled the sobbing Sherlock away from his brother's body.

"It can't be," he sobbed, "It can't be."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry." his friend whispered in his ear.

When Sherlock looked back at his brother, Kate was kneeling down beside him, her hand rested gently on his cheek.

"_You!_" he growled at her, like a beast searching for prey.

He shook John violently from him, and paced quickly towards the woman.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I really am." she cried.

"_This is your fault_!" he screamed at her. He kicked her, as hard as he could. John tried to hold him back, but he was stronger – he kicked her again.

"Stop it, Sherlock! He wouldn't have wanted you to hurt her!" John yelled, and that caught Sherlock's attention. He turned to him. "Mycroft _died_ to make sure no one hurts her. Don't make him die in vain."

Sherlock blinked away the tears that wouldn't stop flowing. The pain filled his body and his head like poison, destroying everything it touches. He should have done something – there was so much he could have done! Yet he did nothing. _Nothing._

"Yes, he did die for you. And you'll have to live the rest of your life knowing the best man you've ever met died for you even after you're betrayed him and broke his heart. I'll see you in _hell_." the detective hissed.

Kate got up and walked slowly to the door to exit the empty building. She turned around before she left, to take one last glance at the body.

"I did love him," she tried to explain, "Perhaps not as much as he loved me, but… I did love him."

"Then why did you let Moriarty have him?" the doctor couldn't help himself and asked.

She opened her mouth, but then her eyes met Sherlock's, so she closed her mouth. Even the sobs didn't ruin her beauty completely – she was still stunning, even like that, and that made Sherlock sick. She turned around and left, the sound of her heels slowly fading away.

Sherlock kneeled down beside his brother.

"I promised him I'll help him." he said quietly.

"There was nothing you could do."

"I could do _something_!" he screamed, and the tears started falling down again. He wiped his eyes angrily.

John was paralyzed. He knew Sherlock cared about his brother, no matter how hard he had tried to hide it, but he didn't know he _loved_ him. He wondered earlier that day how would Sherlock react to his brother's death. He thought he would react the way he reacted to Irene Adler's death – he'd be quiet, won't eat and play the violin a lot. He never thought he'd see Sherlock _break down_ like that.

Sherlock hated crying. He tried to hold back his tears, but no matter how hard he tried, they still came rolling down his cheeks, each one cutting him like glass. Mycroft's death was something he never considered, because it had always seemed so _obvious_ that he'd live. He knew that his own life were in constant danger, and so were John's as long as they were friends. Mary's life were in danger because of her past, Lestrade's life were in danger because of his job (although he never actually did something dangerous), Mrs. Hudson's life were in danger because of her age… But Mycroft always seemed so steady. Like the oldest building in the neighborhood that everyone thinks will collapse because of its cracks and old age, yet it never does. Sherlock wasn't a fool, he knew that Mycroft's job includes a lot of risks, but he never thought… He never even imagined…

"Sherlock, we have to go." the doctor said softly, but his friend wasn't listening.

The detective bent down next to Moriarty's body, and took his brother's phone out of its dead hand. He handed it to John without turning. He couldn't look at that phone for more than a second. Just as he was about to get up, he heard something. His eyes widened when he recognized the sound.

_Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive…_

Sherlock put his hand on the body's pocket and felt the phone. He pulled it out and picked up.

"Hello?" he asked, hesitated.

"_Hello darling!_" said a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"No. No, that's _impossible_!" the detective cried.

"_Don't be silly, love, of course I'm not alive. But I knew you'd kill me._" Moriarty's voice laughed, and then continued in an irritated tone. "_Always so predictable, so boring! You'll always be one step behind me!_" there was a short pause, before the recording continued. "_Would you like to know what's going to happen next, Johnny-boy?_" Jim asked, suddenly ignoring the detective.

John looked at Sherlock in a shocked looked. Was he supposed to say something?

"_I'm waiting_."

"Yes." the doctor blurted.

"_Say please._" Moriarty said, as if he was actually alive and listening.

"Please."

There was a short pause again, and Sherlock knew Moriarty was smiling at that moment.

"_You see, dear, I've promised Sherlock a long time ago I'll burn his heart out. And I did – I killed his brother right in front of his eyes!_" he exclaimed triumphantly, but then his tone became sadder. "_But it wasn't enough, because he still has someone to help him, someone to support him._" the recording became silent again, long enough to let Sherlock understand the subtext.

"No. _No!_" he yelled.

Moriarty laughed. "_You always say you're the cleverest, that you never forget anything, but this time you slipped up. You forgot about something!_"

The second he finished saying that, a red dot appeared on John's chest.

"_You forgot about my sniper!_" he announced happily.

John was trembling in fear, but then his eyes met Sherlock's. He could see in how much pain his friend was, how scared he was, and that brought him strength he didn't know he had. He stopped trembling, and gave Sherlock a reassuring look. "It's alright." he said quietly, fighting the urge to look at the little laser dot that's on his chest.

"No, it isn't! What about Mary? How will she raise the baby alone?"

John swallowed hard. With every piece of strength he had, he pushed Mary and his unborn child out of his mind. "She'll understand," he said, and he meant it. "Besides, you won't let me die." he said with a sad chuckle, and then regretted it immediately when he saw Sherlock's expression. There was nothing the detective could do to help him, and the both knew it. He shouldn't have said it.

"_Johnny-boy, would you like to know what's going to happen now?_"

No, he didn't. "Yes."

"_You're going to die, right here, in front of your best friend. And when you die, the police will arrive, and guess what they'll find? A room with two bodies and their favourite sociopath! It's pointless to say that the sniper's gun is identical to yours, so they'll also find the weapon next to him! So our detective friend here will be hunted by everyone he knows and cares about for the rest of his life, and the only people that will be able to help him will be dead!_" Moriarty said, and his laughter rolled in the room, sending chills down John's spine.

"_Chao, Sherlock Holmes_." Moriarty said for the last time, and the recording stopped.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." the doctor said.

"No, stop it." the detective begged.

The doctor chuckled bitterly. "Is this what it felt like? To stand in front of your best friend and say goodbye?" he cleared his throat. "I still think the same way I did when I thought you were dead. You're the best and most human man I have ever –"

"Stop talking like your about to die." Sherlock begged again, the tears making his voice hoarse.

"But I _am_ about to die, Sherlock. You asked me once to tell you what I would say if I were dying. Now I know. Sherlock, I –"

The sound of a shot fired echoed in the room, and John fell on the floor. Sherlock ran to him, and put his hand under his head. He was still alive, but Sherlock knew it was only temporary. The bullet was aimed directly at his heart. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but the detective put his hand on his friend's mouth. He was too weak to talk now.

"It's okay, John. It's alright. I know." Sherlock whispered to his friend soothingly. "It's alright. Close your eyes. It's okay. I'll explain it to Mary. She'll understand." he said, and he saw the relief in his friend's eyes, that was immediately replaced by exhaustion.

"Go to sleep, John. Shhh, it's alright. Go to sleep." he whispered, unable to hold back his sobs anymore.

Dr. John Watson closed his eyes slowly for the last time, and Sherlock stroked his hair until he couldn't hear his breaths anymore.

He could hear the police sirens getting closer and closer. He knew that in a matter of seconds he will be arrested, doomed to live in excruciating pain.

Unless…

He picked up John's pistol. Yes, it was a selfish thing to do, and he knew that. But he ran out of people to care about.

Lestrade and two other policemen entered the room. Sherlock could see the shocked expression spreading over his face. The detective raised his gun and aimed it at him.

"He's armed!" a man yelled.

Sherlock pretended to be about to pull the trigger, and the policeman fired his pistol. He hit his chest, although Sherlock knew he missed his heart. He collapsed on the floor, but just before he did he glimpsed at Lestrade's hurt expression.

The consulting detective closed his eyes. He already knew what being shot at would feel like. He instinctively entered his mind palace.

_John and Mycroft were standing right in front of him._

_"Are you out of your mind?!" John cried. "You weren't supposed to die! Fight, Sherlock!" _

_Sherlock didn't know what to say. How could he tell him he can't live without him?_

_"Right before you… died," the detective said, "You were saying something."_

_The doctor's expression softened. "Yes, I was. I said that –"_

_The room suddenly tilted sideways, and Sherlock fell on the floor, although John and Mycroft didn't even move._

_"Oh, Sherlock," his older brother said with a worried look, "What have you done?"_

_"I'm sorry." the detective said. "I really am."_

_He could feel the pain now. Deep and excruciating, but it'll end soon. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes, there was a circle of people around him, everyone he had ever cared about: his parents, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mary, and finally, John. They were all smiling to him, even Mycroft was grinning._

_"We're not angry, Sherlock." Molly said. "We understand."_

_"It's easier to leave. You'll like it. No idiots." Mycroft said, and a faint smile spread on Sherlock's face._

_"I'll understand," Mary said, "I'm stronger than you think. I'll know it wasn't you."_

_"I'll help her," his father said and wrapped his arm around his mother, "She's not alone."_

_Sherlock was suddenly strong enough to talk. "Thank you." he said._

_John smiled to him, and Sherlock was suddenly aware that he was holding his hand. It was warm._

_"It's fine, Sherlock. I'm not mad."_

_"I'm scared." Sherlock admitted. The pain was getting weaker, and he knew what that meant._

_John chuckled. "The world's only consulting detective is afraid? I thought danger was your middle name."_

_"Actually, his middle name is Sherlock." Mycroft commented, and John laughed._

_"Shut up, Mycroft." Sherlock said with a smile. It was getting easier to breathe._

_"Close your eyes, Sherlock." John said, and he obeyed. He wasn't afraid anymore. "We'll be right here when you'll open them. I'm not going anywhere." the doctor said softly._

_Sherlock could feel himself falling into a deep and welcome sleep. _

_Moriarty had lost the game. _


End file.
